Glorious Ashes
by Hilarious Bread
Summary: On their way to transfer to Dustbowl, the BLU Team makes a pitstop in a small wooden town for the night, not knowing it could be their last. Facing a burning village, the threat of Respawn never being restored, and a fiery maniac, can they make it out alive?
1. Chapter 1

_Inspired by Meet the Pyro._

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Overwhelming fear was the only recognizable emotion through the thick smog of flame and ruin. If it had been any other case, the German doctor would have been ashamed to be cowering behind a group of barrels while an enemy raged outside with glee only a maniac could own. However, this was no normal maniac, and these were no normal circumstances. This was the Pyromaniac of RED, and there was absolutely no explanation of why the hell-bringer had shown up, how they had gotten to the small village in the first place, and what brought about the traumatizing events to follow their arrival.

The wrath evoked in the village was nothing he or any of his teammates had ever seen from the enemy. Whatever had set off the maniac, the brutality and hunger for bloodshed was nothing like they had seen before, even on the battlefield. And it happened so fast. Everyone scattered like frightened sheep, and all hope for a coordinated attack was lost.

For all the Medic had known, the whole RED team should have already been stationed at Dustbowl, awaiting the opposing team's arrival for the battles to begin. He had been the first one to notice the RED Pyro entering the town, walking slowly and quietly. The Medic remembered being in a conversation, but what it had been about escaped his jumbled mind. He recalled going silent suddenly with confusion, narrowing his eyes at the approaching RED. The rest of the team noticed along with him as he trailed off.

None of them had thought to be scared.

That had been their biggest mistake.

Not that they could have known what was coming. They watched in silence as the figure almost casually drifted to the side of the street, placing a gloved hand on the old wood of one of the houses. The group exchanged looks. The moment everyone began to get slightly worried was when the Firebug hoisted up his weapon and began to spray flames onto the buildings.

Everything was blurred and frantic after that; the Medic's mind was jumbled. The hollow lenses had come to rest on the group of nine, strangely threatening and full of blood-lust. It stepped forwards. Parts of the group hesitantly stepped backwards.

The glances exchanged were no longer looks of confusion. There was a glimmer of nervousness in all of their eyes. Respawn did not protect the group outside of the battlefield. This was staring into the face of death.

The Pyro had chased after them as the group hurriedly disbanded. The Scout was the first to make a run for it, the Sniper uselessly trying to call him back. The Spy stared with controlled but anxious eyes, looking to the rest of the group questionably.

The Pyro had stepped closer. Wispy breaths from under the mask echoed around the suddenly quiet town. They retreated further as the Pyro began spurting flames warningly. The Engineer looked about as nervous as the Spy. He was the one to speak up first, the Medic remembered, suggesting to follow the Scout. There was another painful silence as they were herded farther and farther into the town made of what may as well have been kindle. As the RED slowed to a stop, flamethrower limp, all eyes were on the monstrosity.

The lenses flashed menacingly, flamethrower suddenly hoisted up over the Pyromaniac's head, laughter seeping from the gasmask like liquefied lava. As the Pyro suddenly bolted forward towards them, everything about sticking together in a crisis and teamwork flew out the window, all hell breaking loose.

They had all run in different directions, toward whatever shelter they could find.

The Medic could already smell smoke seeping into the shed he had found. Crackling flames laughed at him from outside, and he knew it would be a matter of time before the whole town burnt to the ground. Another figure sat next to him, taking slow breaths, not unlike someone who had already accepted their fate. The Spy and Medic had happened to come to the same place. The Medic felt a bit bad for scaring the Spy half to death as he had entered, the man had burned to death enough times to begin with.

Thankfully, besides the sounds of burning wood from outside there had been no screaming. Yet. The two sat in silence, leaning against the wall idly. They both knew staying would assure their deaths. Either the Pyro would find them, or the flames would eat up the shed along with them. The Medic looked to the Frenchman, who despite the fumes all around their hideaway, still exhaled smoke from his cigarette. He refused to make eye contact, or merely was too deep in his thoughts to notice.

"Spy," The Medic whispered quietly, the eerie crackling from outside triggering his cautious tone. The man barely responded, his head turning slightly towards the doctor. He was listening. In a low hiss, the German continued hurriedly. "Ve cannot stay here. zhe Pyro vill find us."

The two locked eyes, the Spy's dull with defeat. He shook his head slightly, staring blankly ahead. He spoke quietly. "Zhere is no way to get out now. He will find us, wherever we may 'ide... Dustbowl is miles from 'ere. Zhe van is probably no longer functional from the heat, maybe it caught on fire, I don't know." He murmured, motioning with his hand and flicking the but of the cigarette away from him. Smoke flowed from between his teeth.

"Nein," The Medic growled in response, fidgeting slightly to face the Spy more adequately. "Don't you see? There is one RED, and nine of us. Our mistake was splitting up, and ve must regroup to fight zhis threat. It is no different than any other battle." The Spy's unwillingness was irritating the Medic as he raised his voice slightly.

Catching the aggressive edge to the doctor's tone, the Spy spat back equally as angrily. "Zhis is no regular mission, you fool! Zhere is no respawn 'ere. We are not as invincible as you believe. I 'ave dealt with zhis enemy more times than a-"

The Spy suddenly froze, the Medic becoming equally as still. A bloodcurdling yell erupted not far from them, the voice deep and familiar. The Medic's eyes widened as he suddenly jumped up. Before the Spy could stop him, the doctor ran for the doors, pushing them open frantically. The Spy scrambled after the man, trying to pull him away from the outside world.

A call out caught in the Medic's throat as he looked ahead, two figures standing face to face. He made it just in time to see one fall, a familiar axe sticking out of the huge man's skull. There was a sickening sound as the body collapsed into the dirt. "Herr Heavy," He mumbled, not believing his eyes. The Russian was around twice the Pyro's size. Did he go down so easily?

"Doctor, please," The Spy hissed behind him, trying to pry his grip away from the door. "Let go, you imbecile!" But the Medic was not present. At least, not in the Spy's conversation. He watched in horror as the Pyro turned, looming over another figure that the doctor had not noticed the first time. The third silhouette was still alive, picking himself up and straitening from a crumpled heap on the dusty ground to standing up, stumbling backwards with fear and weakness. They were wearing a baseball cap.

The Medic was now trying to thrash out of the Spy's hold, the man wanting to rush to his teammate's aid, like he would have mere days ago on the battlefield. "Stop! _Lass mich gehen_!"

The Scout staggered again slightly as the Pyro rose a flare gun into the young man's face. With a shockingly bright flash it whizzed into the boy, sending him tumbling to the ground, the previous efforts he made to stand were in vain. The Pyro watched the limp body, flickering flames reflecting off the mask covering their face. He didn't get up.

"_He is going to see you_," The Spy whispered, making a last ditch effort to bring the Medic back.

"I.. I can't leave zhem to die," He murmured, torn. The Spy shushed him, pulling the doctor away more gently. This time he let himself be moved, the Spy bringing him quietly against the wall as the doors closed. He lowered them both down quietly, speaking quietly. "If you truly believe we can make zhis out of 'ere alive, I will follow you." There was a small silence between the two, time of taking in what they had seen and time of taking in the proportions of the situation.

Both of the men's heads turned abruptly as the crunch of gravel and rocks under boots echoed in front of the shed. As soon as the noise has started, it stopped, and despite the Spy's objections, the Medic stood, almost feeling like he was in a dream, he felt light and surreal. He made his way to the doors, even as a slight bang from the outside echoed. His face was intensely collected as he placed his hands to the doors again. The Spy was coming up behind him, about to pull him back again.

Pushing to doors open, he found that they merely stuck after about a foot of opening, a fire axe with the same blood belonging to his fallen comrade before him. Looking up, he saw the monstrosity that had committed the deed. Two blank lenses stared at him, and suddenly a canopy of light flooded his vision.

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_I know I should be updating my other stories before I start a new one, but I couldn't resist. Remember to review, I love feedback._

In German, "_Lass mich_ _gehen_" means "Let me go."


	2. Chapter 2

The Spy almost fell over as the Medic suddenly collapsed backwards, knocking into him. Unfortunately through the disorientation of a panicked mind, he was unable to catch the doctor's arm as he fell. He glanced behind him, realizing that the Medic had fainted. As he turned back, his face was met with a ripple of incoming fire. An overwhelming heat forced the Spy to shy away from the still open door, flames licking at them and catching onto the dry wood. It was perfect fuel for the advancing inferno. The Frenchman squinted into the flames, barely making out a figure moving behind the curtain of blazing fire. The spray of fire showed no sign of stopping.

The growing heat made him nauseous, his thoughts clouded as he stumbled towards the ground and half collapsed onto his side. It already felt like the fire was engulfing him, the hot air suffocating and claustrophobic. He propped himself up onto his elbow, seeing the bright flames still pouring in through the open door. Eyes narrowing, he knew that despite the already all-consuming heat in the room, it was a priority to get the door closed, to wake up the Medic, and get out of the burning building. Smoke had begun to fill the room at a shocking pace, and his already sub-par lungs were starting to become overwhelmed.

Crouching next to the Medic, he dragged the man farther away from the door before wiping the sweat from around his mask and preparing to return to the objective. With a final hiss of determination, he swallowed his fear and made his way along the wall adjacent to the door. The amount of wood caught fire on the inside was probably substantially less than on the outside, and it was best for it to stay that way. The Pyro had stopped spewing flames into the room, most likely assuming its occupants dead. Exiting that way was still far too risky.

Looking for the part of the handle with the least amount of fire eating at the wood, the Spy found an adequate section clear of flame, clasping his hand around the metal... And immediately regretted it. He howled a bit, half at his own stupidity and half at the pain that bit through his glove courtesy of the searing hot metal. Again he cursed, this time for his foolish decision to use a lungful of air to cry out, now inhaling smoke and breaking into a small coughing fit. Snarling, he grabbed the handle again, and ignoring the almost unbearable pain, pulled the door shut. To his thankfulness, the blockading axe caught on the other door, causing both to close simultaneously.

The Spy dragged himself away from the increasing heat, shrugging off his coat as he came to the Medic's side. Standing to attempt to drag the Medic he found was useless. His legs shook when he stood, and he was merely standing up into a cloud of smog. Crouching, he pulled the German doctor along with himself towards the opposite end of the shed. His chest progressively felt tighter and tighter; he was becoming dizzy and his vision blurring. The whole world felt like it was spinning in front of him. They were right next to the opposite wall now, but despite the doors buying them time, the Spy felt the familiar lightheadedness of passing out and darkness creeping into the corners of his vision.

He bent over in exhaustion, staring at the dirt floor and wishing for it to be the safe sand of Dustbowl and not of a fiery death trap. Looking to the Medic, he patted the man's face, calling out for him to wake up. The man's head lolled to one side vacantly, still out cold. Spy shook him, increasingly rough and panicked as he continued trying to get him to wake up. The Spy's head lowered with exhaustion and lack of oxygen, his eyes loosing focus and staring into the dirt once again. His breaths were going from increasingly labored to slower... Perhaps he shouldn't have smoked all those years after all. Not that it probably would have saved him from this cruel fate. He swayed over the dirt, feeling as if he was about to tip over. A final glimmer made its way into the Spy's eyes as the inferno around the two advanced. If something could bring the Medic out of his slumber, it was this.

Clumsily going through his discarded coat, the Spy's shaking hands removed his most trusted tool of killing. Looking over the beautiful blade of his knife, the Spy took one last look into the blaze behind him from the reflective surface. Lifting the knife above his head, he murmured a quiet apology before plunging the blade into the Medic's hand. All of his energy consumed, the man toppled over, blacking out.

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_Thank you for the kind reviews. This one's a little short, but more to come._


	3. Chapter 3

Complete brightness had suddenly transitioned to quenching blackness in the Medic's vision. The vacancy and darkness of the realm was uncannily similar to the process of Respawn, but the lurching feeling in his gut that the process always induced was absent. After concluding that he was indeed not Respawning, the first thought to go through his head was whether he was dead or not. He could barely feel anything physically, only the slightest sensation of floating stimulating his mind. His hopes sunk a bit. He was never a very religious man, but the thoughts of possibly being in some sort of purgatory came into mind. Feeling immortal for much of his employment with BLU, the Medic had never pondered death all to deeply.

Without warning, his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain in his hand. Suddenly the darkness began to lighten somewhat. The pain didn't go alleviate, and as he looked down, he could finally see something through the hazy atmosphere. His hand, with a familiar dagger stabbed through it.

The Medic lurched awake, momentarily thrashing out of his unconsciousness. He found himself covered in sticky sweat, his eyesight and thought process hazy. Flipping over onto his stomach, the familiar throbbing from the dream filled his hand, and he cursed under his breath. The Spy, who was now lying next to him unconscious, was apparently the culprit who stuck the knife into his hand. Not that it was very surprising. Extracting the knife with a small wince, he pushed himself up, looking behind himself at the fire. His eyes looked upward, finding that the roof was also creaking warningly with the introduction of heat and fire. The licking flames around the walls were starting to get dangerously close, despite the Spy's efforts to buy time. Not to mention the room filling with smoke. His breaths were becoming increasingly labored as he slipped off his medical coat.

Squinting through the fumes, the Medic could not see any sort of other exit besides the one already consumed with scorching fire. The copious amounts of smoke made his eyes water behind his glasses. Looking back to the planks on the wall, the Medic attempted to find a realistic solution.

His Bonesaw could have made easy work of the aged wood. Unfortunately, all weaponry had been transferred with other necessities to Dustbowl in advance. He was trapped, only having the Spy's knife and the unbearable heat at his disposal. The situation was looking grim for both men; there was no time to loose. Medic leaned into the wood, observing the makeup and condition of the building. The planks were nailed in lazily, few actually fastened to the wood tightly. If he could push the nails out of the planks, or possibly loosen them, he could remove the wall in-between them and the fresh air. Glancing back at the quickly approaching flames, he went to work.

Closing the butterfly knife, the Medic took the handle in his good hand, hammering the exposed sharp side of the nail. He knew the Spy wouldn't have approved of ruining the tool, but at the moment it was of no concern. The haft of the knife got the job done surprisingly well, although it was still in question whether there was enough time to escape. He wondered if the singing heat on his neck was his imagination or the fire taking a taste of his skin.

Taking on the nail diagonal to the first, it slid out almost immediately. Putting pressure on the plank, the piece of wood popped out of its hinge. Hope elevated inside of his chest with a sudden rush of cool air from outside. He quickly continued onto the next plank. It looked that only about four planks would need to be removed for the escape. Taking another glance at his surroundings, the fire was starting to come dangerously close to the Spy's limp figure. Taking another breath from outside, the Medic crawled to his teammate, wrapping an arm around his torso and pulling the man along with him towards the work-in-progress of an escape route.

The second plank came off with a little more difficulty, and the Medic noticed that the fire began to consume Spy's discarded coat, mere feet away. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the German began to work on the third plank. Twisting it out of its position was relatively easy, but the fire was now just about closing in on them. There was no time to try and remove the last board properly. Sighing shakily, the Medic packed his remaining energy into a kick towards the last plank, breaking it impressively in half. He wanted to let relief come over himself, but now was not the time. Grabbing the Spy from under his arms, the Medic dragged him backwards, away from the danger. Shimmying through the hole with a bit of difficulty, the Medic finally made it out into the night, scrambling backwards as he pulled the Spy out of the fiery mess.

Letting go a few yards away from the damned shed, the Medic let himself collapse into the dirt, breathing heavily. After a few seconds of listening to the fire take over the wooden structure, he heard the thundering of the roof collapsing in. Despite the fear still trying to break out of the Medic's system, he found himself laughing quietly. A few days ago, dying in this sort of situation would have been no big deal on the battlefield. It was quite an adrenaline rush to face something of this sort with actual risk. His laughing quickly faded away as he put his hands over his face, mood swinging abruptly. He was nowhere close to out of danger, despite escaping the shed with the Spy. Two of his teammates had already been lost. The Pyro still roamed free, creating havoc. The predicament was still cornering them in the underdog position.

Collecting himself, the Medic's thoughts came to the Spy. Picking himself up regardless to the exhaustion he was feeling, the Medic moved over to the man. Leaning over, the Medic could hear the Spy breathing, although they were raspy breaths. The Frenchman was also covered with sweat due to the immense heat; being reminded of this made the German thirsty. His tongue felt like leather. However, he had no idea where any water at all could be found in the apocalyptic area. He shook the Spy slightly, wondering whether he should let him wake up on his own. This thought was quickly dismissed. There was no time.

Patting the Spy on the face did nothing either. The Medic sighed. The Spy was not going to like this, but... The Medic put all the force he could into a backhanded slap across the Spy's face.

The man jolted awake, his eyes opening hazily as his hand flew to his face, tenderly feeling the skin. Not even a balaclava could protect him from that. His eyes focused on the Medic, and shut again as the Spy coughed slightly. The Medic nudged him, hoping that he had not fallen unconscious again or worse. The Spy waved him away somewhat, only the fizzing of the flames filling their ears.

After giving the Spy a fair amount of time to gather himself, the Medic prodded at him again, crouching. "Ve must go. Can you stand?"

The Spy sighed, turning over with a hiss of pain. A burn up his left arm and hand came into the Medic's sight that he hadn't noticed before. Helping the man up, the Medic made a side note of tending to his burn when the opportunity arose. After a few shaky steps the Spy got a hold of himself, mind cleared with the now fresh supply of air. Glancing at each other, the two cautiously made their way into the street, towards the area where the Pyro had drawn blood.

The Heavy came into sight first – it would be hard to miss the axe sticking out of the massive man's forehead. They approached the body, a puddle of blood collecting around the man's corpse. Looking down, the Medic gazed at his friend's glassy eyes, still open. The Spy turned away from the stomach-churning display, making his way towards the Scout. A regretful frown came to the Medic's face. Bending down, he closed the man's eyelids, staring at his friend's body with repent. There was no use in checking for a pulse. The Heavy was definitely dead. Returning to his standing position, the Medic was brought out of his mourning by a sudden choking sob from a bit away.

The Spy had found the Scout, but this cry did not come from the Frenchman. Whipping around and hurriedly running towards the Spy's bent over figure, the Bostonian came into view. It looked as if the boy had just come out of unconsciousness, whimpering quietly as the Spy comforted him. The flare had seared a streak across the left side of his face across his cheek, narrowly missing the Scout's eye. At first it had seemed that the Scout had not been hurt much, but as the Medic approached, he noticed a deep wound on the Scout's leg, undisputedly a blow from a fire axe. Blood was still flowing out of the wound. However, the Scout's mental state seemed considerably worse.

His eyes were still wide with fear, despite being among his teammates. The Spy carefully pulled the Scout up into a sitting position, the boy struggling and choking out unintelligible words. As the Medic came up on the Scout's other side, he began begging them to stay away. "D-Don't hurt m-me," He finally began to form sentences, sobbing as his eyes squeezed shut with pain and fear. He was no longer the smart talking teenager that the two of his teammates had known. "P-Please, l-leave me a-al-lone."

The Spy kept the boy upright, patiently wrapping his arm around him and whispering calmly to the Scout as the Medic began tending to the gashes in his thigh. "It's okay, you're safe now. Please, hush, everything is going to be alright." The young man began to quiet down, giving up on trying to fumble his words. He cried softly into the Spy's chest, sniffling faintly. The Medic had very limited resources, but the fabric of the Scout's running pants would be adequate to put together a makeshift bandage. He used the Spy's knife to make a small tear in the fabric, pulling the rest of the fiber apart with his hands to not accidentally spook the Scout with the sharp object. Removing his gloves with a wince at his own wound, the Medic pulled at the material, wrapping it snuggly around the wound.

The Scout jerked away from the pain with panic, the Spy coaxing him to sit still again. The boy was shaking uncontrollably, hanging onto the Spy as if his life depended on it. The Medic finished up on the improvised bandage, coming to sit next to the Scout as well. He had his head down, leaning into the Spy tiredly. From time to time a small whimper or sniffle emitted from the boy. His cocky nature had been completely extinguished by his close touch with eternal death, or at least the fear of it. He looked as if he was going to say something a couple times, opening his mouth and then clenching his jaw shut again, his blue eyes staring locked ahead.

"Doctor," The Spy started, looking up. Upon his name being called, the Medic glanced up from observing the Scout with concern. "We should get 'im out of 'ere, zhen see if any others have survived." The Spy spoke quietly, as if not to alarm the Scout. The Medic nodded wordlessly, standing. The Spy stood after him, draping one of the Scout's arms over his shoulders as the Medic took the other one. The Scout's reacted minimally to this, his breathing still trembling. The Medic's eyes narrowed slightly. He still couldn't tell if he was traumatized, or this was an effect of the blood loss from the gash.

It took considerably longer to make it outside of the town's boundaries, the group trying to stay near the buildings despite the fact that most were on fire. If the Pyro returned, they could not be out in the open. Along the way nobody spoke. Finally, the group turned, the town only being a mere burning catastrophe in the distance. They had found a couple of large rocks to let the Scout lie behind, hopefully away from the danger. They set him down, the Medic speaking to him slowly. "Ve are going to see if zhere are other survivors. Vait here for us to come back. Do you understand?"

The Scout looked up slightly, nodding after a bit. The Medic wished he could comfort the terrified boy more, but there were important matters to attend to. The Spy gave the Scout a comforting rub on the shoulder as they left, moving back towards the very disaster that they had aimed to escape.

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_A longer chapter for the previous, shorter one. The conclusion will be in a couple chapters, hopefully. I don't want to drag this out._


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